


like a moth

by horchatita394



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5629303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horchatita394/pseuds/horchatita394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Day 1 of Flash Rare Pairs Week!</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a moth

If someone had cared to ask Caitlin, she could have told them that a masked ball New Year’s Eve party, hosted by the mayor, in the main hall of a museum, in a city full of self-declared supervillains was a terrible idea. But no one asked Caitlin, except Iris West who actually asked whether she thought a feathered or glittering mask matched with her gown. Caitlin told her the white feathers matched best with her soft flowing gown and kept her pessimistic opinion about the coming evening to herself.

To keep the anxiety at bay Caitlin gave herself tasks. The first task was to appreciate the general splendor of the event, which was beautiful not only for its venue but by the beautifully dressed and masked guests dancing and drinking and laughing. Her second task was to find her friends, which was a bit more difficult than she anticipated. She found Iris almost instantly, having helped her get ready, but she looked busy speaking with her father and some other cops. It was almost as easy to find Barry, who wore a very dark red suit and black mask. Then Caitlin proceeded to worry about how easy it was for her to identify a masked Barry and whether the suit and voice change were really enough to keep his identity a secret forever when he ran around as the Flash. So she decides to concentrate on her third and most constant task, the one that is more of a permanent fixture of her every day functioning – not being visibly sad.

Being a 28 year old widow has no perks, especially when you were married for such a short time that no one assumes your grief and everyone forgets that it’s there,  so that the questions “are you okay?” and “did something happen?” are more common than she can stand. _No_ , she wants to wear around her neck like a road sign , _my husband is dead and I am not okay._

It’s Cisco who finally finds her and grins under his blue and yellow mask.

“Look at you!” He near shouts, taking her hand and making her twirl. “What are you doing standing over here? Go get your new year’s jam on! Come on let’s dance.” Caitlin quietly loves Cisco’s version of “are you okay?” because he assumes the answer is no and skips right to correcting it.

“I don’t feel much like dancing,” she says with the best smile she can manage, “but you look like you’ve found a partner.” She looks over to the woman in the full mask and sparkling gold dress and wags her eyebrows at Cisco.

“I told her my friend needed company and she went to get us drinks, come join us Cait,” he pleads softly.

“I won’t be good company tonight, but – thanks for coming over,” she tells him. He nods and turns to go but she stops him when she sees something in the crowd.

“Who is that with Barry?” Caitlin had been sad to hear things hadn’t worked out between Barry and Patty when he decided it would be best not to tell her about the Flash. Now she watches curiously as a man in a tailored dark suit approaches her friend with two drinks and a smirk on his lips. It gives her the chills. Beside her Cisco looks over and whistles at the sight, but shrugs in answer.

“No idea, but he sure looks like he’s aiming straight for Barry huh? Well I say straight-“ Cisco snorts at his own joke but Caitlin still watches the man intently as he catches Barry’s attention and she looks at the way Barry’s posture shows surprise and delight and his hands start to gesture and she tries to be happy for him and not worry.

"Go back to dancing," she tells Cisco, smiling encouragingly. He does after a moment, but Caitlin watches. She watches both of her friends dancing with mysterious elegant strangers. She watches the mirth and joy and how close it is to midnight and she feels pathetic and bitter and widowed, looking for trouble and menace where there is only happiness and hope.

There are twenty seven minutes to midnight, to the New Year, when she steps out of the ballroom. There are a few open hallways and everything else is safely locked away in darkened halls. It’s enchanting out here, where the music sounds far away and dreamlike and the lights are dim.

She almost misses the open stairwell door, propped by what looks like something… something like polished rock. She crouches by the door and illuminates it with the light of her phone. It looks… something like a fossil or a piece of something important. She’s no expert in these things, maybe it is only a decorative choice that she should pass by and return to the party, but there is warm light coming from somewhere up the staircase and it’s calling to something in her. Something that has settled there and is always looking for a point of burning light in a dark sky.

She feels like a moth climbing up to what she is certain -somewhere inexplicable and unscientific within her- there is a flame. It’s four flights up and the light is brighter and brighter until she reaches another propped open door, another misplaced artifact, and steps out into the chilled December air. She can see the flame, a roaring bonfire of things that are not logs, and she feels entranced by it for a moment before a large hot hand wraps over her mouth with an equally hot breath at her ear.

“You’re not going to scream,” the rough voice in her ear says, declaring. It does nothing to settle the racing beat of her heart or the very real urge to scream. She hears the door slam closed and the last of the faint music is gone and the hand over her mouth is large and hot as the body pressed behind her and the urge to scream subsides because it feels terrifyingly like drowning, like peace.

“You’re not going to scream,” the voice says again, and now she can hear the faint ghost of a question. She nods as much as she can and slowly the hot hand disappears. She turns slowly but of course, she knows just who will be there. There is something missing in his eyes though, or muted or covered or gone.

The blind madness seems cleared or at least taking a holiday and he only looks exasperated which looks endearing which means she is mad. She thinks about the last time they were this close when she had spoken to him with hate and he had spoken to her with awe and rage. She thinks about how much she should fear and loathe Mick Rory – but it is silent here and there is a flame burning against the dark sky and so, in this moment, he has everything she wants.

“What are you doing here,” she whispers as harshly as she can. The man shrugs, makes sure to stand between her and the door.

“Nowhere else to be,” he says. She takes in the surroundings a bit more, since escape doesn’t seem a smart or possible options. There is a turned over crate and three very familiar guns powered down and on the ground. She turns her eyes back to him and he isn’t smiling but he isn’t frowning.

“It’s done,” he says, “it was boring. They just wanted into the party, really.” The job, she assumes, whatever it is they came to take they’ve taken already. But if she’s understanding what he’s implying… She steps forward, ready to put up whatever fight she needs to so she can warn everyone.

“You mean they’re at the party right now?”

“They’re dancing,” he says, rolling his eyes as if he’d never heard anything more ridiculous. Caitlin is inclined to agree.

“Dancing. They…robbed the museum and then they gate crashed the party and they’re in there. Dancing.”

He nods over to the guns she’d looked at before and she takes another glance.

“I …guess that… well I guess that’s…”

“Fucking stupid,” he says and he nods again, toward the turned over crate. She swallows, realizing that she is once again being held by Mick Rory, appreciating the lack of ropes more than she probably should. She turns her back to him, too easily, and takes a careful seat on the crate she’s sure he had been occupying before. Maybe he didn’t mean to offer her a seat, his seat, but it is a bizarre New Year’s Eve night and the fire is warm against her bare shoulders and it feels rather insanely safe here on a rooftop with a pyromaniac.

“Trying to get a view of the fireworks?” She asks, stepping into whatever truce this is.

“Not a fan,” he says, grabbing something that looks alarmingly like a chunk of canvas and throwing it into the fire.

“Really? That’s…surprising.” She watches as he grunts at her and adds more probably priceless fuel to the fire.

“Can I ask why?”

He stops in the middle of tearing something that had been beautiful apart with his bare hands.

“You don’t care.”

She considers that for a moment, looks out onto the night and sighs.

“I care to know. I mean…you like when things blow up.”

“I don’t,” he growls. “I like it when things burn. I like it when fire does what fire does and consumes things. It makes them intangible. I don’t like stupid fucking light shows that make shapes in the sky.”

“You don’t like fireworks because they…control the fire.”

He doesn’t answer her outright but he mutters something to the effect of ‘disrespect’.

“I don’t like them either,” she says, sounding too calm and dazed for her own ears. “I don’t like flames flying up into the sky.”

“You like fire,” he says, without asking.

“I do,” she whispers, “but not the way you do.”

He makes a sound, it takes her a moment to realize it was something akin to a laugh.

“No one does.”

He’s beside her now, fallen to a crouch like he’s considering the city in front of them. Caitlin has spent hours talking to Barry about the Snart issue, whether he can trust him, whether there really is good in him. One thing she’s taken away from it all is that Snart will do what is necessary to keep Central City together, because he loves this city. She doesn’t think Mick Rory loves Central City, she doesn’t think he loves anything at all that isn’t fire.

In a way she understands. In a way it might all have been easier that way. When she turns to him to say, God she doesn’t even remember what, he’s too close. She remembers how much she hates him, logically of course. She remembers how he threatened her with fire, remembers how it almost sounded like he was offering her a gift.

“What-“

“You got burned,” he says, still close, “it showed you the real you, when it burned right through you.” She turns her head away, glancing at her hands. Part of her almost expects to see them burned raw.

“Yeah,” she says with a dry laugh. “Paranoid, depressed, bitter– my true self.”

“Sharp,” he says, cutting through her sarcasm, “vigilant, curious, sad. It made you brave, Snow.”

She looks at him with eyes squinted in confusion and wariness and yes, curiosity.

"Since when do you-"

"I don't." He says all gruff and too quick.

"But Snart's got some assurances from the Flash. Got a stay out of jail card as long as we don't drop anyone. I want that."

"You think I can give you that?"

"Know you can," he counters.

"You have got Flash's life in your hands every other week, you can do whatever the hell you want."

When he says it like that she sees herself in a new light, a strong powerful light.

"Cold already keeps you from hurting innocent people as part of the deal," Caitlin tells him, "so what...what will you do for me?"

The fireworks scare the soul out of her and she turns her head quickly away from Mick's intense glare and face and lips, starting out into the suddenly bright night as if she could glare them into submission. She hears a click and suddenly there's an open flame in front of her, the soft flicker of a lighter. It entrances her much as the bonfire had before and when Mick takes her hand, gentle and slow, she forgets to be frightened.

"I can teach you how to play with fire," he says, like a promise. And he doesn't say that it will not hurt, or she won't get burned; he didn't ask whether she's okay or what it is that's wrong. He only offers her the one thing in the world he knows how to love. So she says yes.


End file.
